


I Can Take Care Of Myself

by Feral_Dog



Category: Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Double Trouble!, Gen, Ghost Varian, Ghost Varian is not very nice, Undead, Varian moping, Zombie Varian, detailed description of ghost trying to resurrect himself with SCIENCE, impalement injury, mostly the first chapter, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Dog/pseuds/Feral_Dog
Summary: Varian escaped prison and immediately got back to work trying to free Quirin from the amber.As you can guess from the tags, it goes very wrong.





	1. I Can Treat My Own Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation: On the Tangled Discord, there was a lot of fanart of Varian being impaled, leading to a Varian Dies AU. This led to a Ghost Varian AU. But I wondered: Wouldn't he try to resurrect himself? This being Varian, it would probably go wrong.
> 
> So here is the Double Trouble AU.

\--  
Varian couldn't believe it.

The black rocks had claimed their first life – his, obviously – and here he was looking at his own corpse. A spike had pierced his back, exactly where his heart was. Varian had a sinking feeling the spike was big enough that he no longer had a heart. It was obliterated by the unforgiving point. Another rammed into his back. Some morbid part of Varian was glad that one hadn't hit first. It was a fatal wound, but not instantly so. He would have lived long enough to suffer. When the first one hit, Varian couldn’t really remember thinking much more than “Huh. Guess I’m gonna die now.” He wasn't even sure he had even finished that thought before the end, and somehow he felt cheated. Shouldn’t people think dramatic, sad thoughts when they died? Unless they died happy. But he blew it, responding to being skewered on a rock with idle curiosity and dim regret in the few short seconds before he passed. 

Maybe it was the shock. He heard stories about people losing limbs or being attacked having a similar reaction during the event, holding it together until later, when they cried over whatever happened to them. Maybe that’s what was happening now, and that was why everything felt so cold and clinical to him, like it happened to someone else and he was reading about it after the fact. Even the bits of blood and gore on the sharp point of the rock failed to horrify him. He knew it should, and he should be screaming, but he couldn't. 

He didn't have time to think things like “Ghosts aren't real” or “is Rudiger okay? Please let Rudiger be okay!”

Rudiger was probably fine. Varian had other problems and would not be able to help his friend if something had happened, so he forced himself not to think of it and to stay on task. Rudiger was alright, because he… had to have been outside. Or under a table.

His father, Quirin, was still in the amber. Varian's solution hadn't even worked, which was the most insulting part about this. His dad was still reaching high into the air, crumpled note in hand, face contorted with fear.

And if Varian didn't do something, he would look like that forever.

But first he had to fix himself up. This meant some really disgusting things would be seen and heard. He was not looking forward to that part. Lady Caine was supposed to meet him in a few weeks, and it would be awkward to explain his new ghostly state, and being dead would really screw up the plans they had kicked around after the initial prison escape. Rudiger chattered from another part of the room, and Varian felt a little better. At least he was right about one thing today. This gave him another reason to try: who else was going to watch the little rascal if Varian stayed dead? Certainly not the Lady.

He floated back to his corpse. His legs hung, and he was leaning back. Well, it wasn't really leaning- the spike that broke his back left him bent at a visibly, painfully unnatural angle. The assorted fluids coming from his mouth ran up, some of it sticking to his hair. Varian's face was not peaceful, but it was so grey and pale it looked fake to him. Like it was only pretending to be hurt. He tried to close the eyes but they just slid open again. 

Varian stopped looking at his own face. It was too unsettling, too relaxed for what had been done to him. His skin was going pale, except by the fingers which were looking a little red. With no circulation, the blood was going to pool wherever gravity took it. If he waited long enough some color might come back to his face that way. Ha.

Varian tried to pull his body off the rock, but couldn't. He could lift the arm and move the clothes, but the rest was beyond him. It took forever, even with the raccoon's help, to rig up some ropes and pulleys to hoist the body off (he never wanted to hear the sounds of flesh being un-skewered again), and even longer to get it to his experimental table. He tried very hard to ignore the pools of blood. The shock must be wearing off. Once he had to leave the building. That's when it occurred to him to plug the chest hole, so he removed the shirt from his body and put it in there. There. Now his chest didn't look quite so bad? His blood was not getting all over the place anymore, at least. The shirt was unsalvageable anyway. The apron would need cleaning and something to repair the chest area, but the fact it was leather made it too expensive to throw away simply because he bled on it. It was likely he would need to have the entire top cut off and replaced. That was fairly low priority, so he stashed it on a shelf. He would need to put the gloves there too. Some of the wires needed to connect to his fingertips.

The ghost was able to move most of his alchemy equipment around, too, and soon clarified his plan: he could regrow his heart and lung, fix his spine, get the body technically alive, and hop back in. The elixir would continue working and fix any other damage remaining, once he was back. It wasn't “possession” if it was your own body, right? That's where he was supposed to be. 

Then he could save his dad. And maybe he could see what that note said, if it still mattered. 

“Dad…” He bit back a pang of guilt and shame. He had failed. Again. But it would be fine! His dad would miss him if he stayed dead. He just needed to be alive again, and prove he was still worth having around. Just because you didn't want someone dead didn't mean you wanted them in your life. After all Varian had done after Quirin was trapped, he was sure the man would be mortified (at the very least) as soon as he found out. He might even think Varian was some kind of traitor or had gone too far. Sometimes Varian thought he had. If he pulled this off it meant he could fix his other mistakes, prove he'd been right all along, and maybe…

Maybe. 

Whatever, if he sat around moping nothing would get better. He couldn't recoil, couldn't get scared or second-guess himself, he had to act! Like dad would! 

First thing on the agenda: Freshness. It was going to take a while before the machinery he had in mind was built and ready, so he needed to preserve the cadaver until then. Luckily, he had already invented a preservative that kept meats safe for as long as a month! And unlike an aspic, he didn’t even need to cook the meat or… remove the innards first. Varian made a huge tub of the preservative and rolled his body into it. There. Now it couldn’t rot. He watched an air bubble rise up from the hole in his chest and burst when it reached the surface. Was it weird that this bothered him more than the fact that he was technically dead right now? Varian theorized that he was an anomalous collection of disembodied brain waves that could somehow move things. Not a ghost. He couldn't think of a better term, so until then he was just going to have to call himself that. Whatever he was now, he had some kind of gravity altering abilities or something. NOT TELEKINESIS. Telekinesis was magic, therefore not real. He cracked his phantom knuckles. “Let's get started.”

Time passed in a blur of constant activity. It only took two and a half weeks to get his machine finished. He supposed the fact he didn’t need to stop to take care of physical needs cut down on the time, because he had estimated it would be longer. Rudiger helped when he could, but the little guy was afraid of him if he moved too suddenly or got too excited. Which was alright, Varian could tell he was working past the fear. It gave him hope- if an animal could do that, so could he. And soon he would be properly alive, and Rudiger would have no reason to be afraid of him. Again Varian used pulleys and ropes to drag his own corpse around. A cleaning bomb made short work of the residual preservative and general dirtiness. Good, the electrodes would need a clean surface. Plus, he now had an idea for a cleaning bomb for personal hygiene.

Varian had stolen a pig heart from the butcher's shop earlier in the day, and now he rigged it to his body. He put a bit of his healing elixir into the chest wound- the plan here was to get that heart to pump what little blood he had left, and get the pig heart out when his real one grew back. Easy peasy.

Truly, it was amazing how much being dead made blood look so unimportant. Varian could safely say this kind of plan would have been beyond him if he had a stomach that could vomit or lungs that could hyperventilate. It was still horrendous to see, and the images stuck in his mind even when he wasn't looking, but he could function. Mostly. If he took breaks. Now that the very worst had happened it was hard to see the gaping hole in his chest with terror, so long as he made sure to think of his lifeless body as parts for an experiment. If he acted like it was really him lying there, he started to panic again. It would just have to be like when he ate ham. If he ever thought about how it used to be a pig, sometimes he got stuck in a quandary over whether it was really okay to eat intelligent animals, even though he had definitely seen a pig eat a ham sandwich once-

Varian was ready. He grabbed the knife to cut the strings holding the heart to his…. To the body's arteries and veins. Electricity poured in from the wires he rigged up to the cadaver. The heart jiggled, then beat. His own real heart grew back in little bits at a time, which was handy because then Varian had time between each cut to stop feeling sick. Where was all this blood even coming from? He was pretty sure he lost most of it when he pulled his body off the rocks. Had the elixir caused his corpse to produce more? Oh god it was awful. 

He glared at the reddened knife suspended by his telekinesis. Corona did not execute by some of the more gruesome methods Varian had read about. Crackdown aside, Frederic was a pretty merciful ruler in that regard- but Varian was not able to stop the train of thought reminding him just how lucky he was not to have been executed already, and to have committed his crimes somewhere that hanging was the sole method used. It was strange that it was done by the guards and not some literal executioner, like other kingdoms. How did people do that for a living? Or butchery, come to think of it. This was sick. The first thing he would do when he got back would be to eat a salad and apologize to farm animals. Then, fed and rid of the guilt, he could save his dad. 

When the procedure was done, and the pig heart discarded, he stared. He knew he could do it, but it was still hard to believe what he was seeing. Success! It was pulsing weakly and irregularly, but his heart was present and in one piece, nestled comfortably against a lung, which was way more than he could have said when he first pried himself off the rock. Varian grinned nervously.

“Now to flip the cadaver and repair the spine,” he said to himself with more bravado than he felt. Even making himself think of his mangled body as an alchemy project didn't quite get rid of the (fading, but still present) despair or queasy revulsion. Varian put some more elixir into the hole in his back. The leaky spinal cord mended itself and was surrounded by the bone and cartilage, and flesh covered it all up. Yes! He would live!

That was all he had supplies for at the moment, but that could be fixed later, after he got better. Right now he was giddy that everything was going to plan so quickly! And no explosions! He was going to live! He danced in the air for joy. Once more, he used his complicated system of ropes and pulleys to rotate the body. He was sure he would have puked if he had seen someone's heart fall back into their chest if he was alive. As it was, Varian was trembling. He was happy, but… This whole process was disgusting. The sooner it was over with, the better. The sooner he was healed- here he stopped and wiped his eyes. Really, tears? Geez, he was feeling everything right now. He was happy and sad and grossed out but mostly happy. Well, if this went right, reviving himself should reactivate the elixir in his chest and cover up his heart so it wasn't just hanging there in the open. 

“If my calculations are correct, and I am sure they are, then pulling that switch and flying into that cadaver will…” bring him back to life? No. Ghosts weren't real. He was a collection of electrical impulses. Or something. He just had to get the impulses that made up his mind back into his brain, which would be functional enough to reconnect with after he added a touch more electricity. Totally different from an actual resurrection. It was more like making a broken automaton work. And he, Varian, was the music box. He would be glad for this- to never have to feel that kind of grief or guilt again, because he fixed everything himself. He wouldn't be a failure and the past wouldn't matter. He could fix this- he would! Everything was going to be fine. Varian took one last look at his dad. Yes, it would all work out, and Quirin would have a son he could be proud of. 

All he had to do was stop dilly-dallying and flip that switch.

He sighed. “Here goes nothing.” He didn't give himself time to second-guess his decision. The switch went down and Varian flew into his body. He opened his eyes and screamed- everything hurt! It should not! He wasn't using that much energy!

He felt himself crack and dissolve, reform, and be ejected from the corpse. That was weird. Varian looked back to his body. It lay as dead as it was before. No heartbeat. No breathing. Nothing. Varian was still dead. Dread settled onto him. He flew around aimlessly. It should have worked! How was he supposed to do anything if he was a ghost? It was supposed to work!

“No no no,” he said under his breath. “Please, no…” This was all wrong! He did everything right! He checked and double checked! TRIPLE CHECKED, even! So why was he still disembodied? Was it because the heart was still exposed? “I can't be dead! I have to save my dad!” Nobody else was going to. It had to be because of the exposure. Maybe he had to grow back some ribs before-

Behind him, Varian heard an unearthly groan that sent some raccoon running out the door. His own voice made it. He turned to see his body sitting up, all by itself.


	2. I Can Compromise

Varian could only watch in outrage. It was alive but not because of him. He wasn’t in there. That body was moving on its own, purposefully. That was his body, and he wasn't the one using it! Had some other pile of disembodied brain waves jumped in and kicked Varian out? The nerve of them! While he fumed, the thing on the table had wobbled off and hit the ground. It crawled on its hands and knees. Its heart- HIS heart!- dangled right at the front of the open chest wound. His walking corpse bumbled up to two feet, stomping gracelessly around. It made more groans and growls.

Some automaton this was. It couldn't even stand right! 

It staggered, slack-jawed and drooling, to the amber that trapped his dad. Varian hoped Quirin couldn't see what was going on. The last thing he needed was for him to think his son had fried himself stupid. The remains slapped against the amber, and pounded its fists against the unforgiving stone. Oh lovely. It was crying now. “Stop that!”

This only made it cry louder. Seriously?

“Stop! You're embarrassing me!” Varian never cried that way. He cried sometimes, sure, but he kept control of himself. Not this gross, messy blubbering. Not even when he lost his dad. He totally didn't lose it then. He cried the exact right amount. Totally. He knew that was true because he had been able to come up with a plan not too long after, unlike this thing which clearly had no self-control. The corpse howled and smacked the amber again, before falling face-first onto the stone floor where it continued to cry. Yep. Varian made a zombie toddler. Yelling at it hadn’t worked, so he covered the amber again, and tried to comfort the corpse. His corpse, which now had thoughts aside from his own. When had his life gotten so bizarre? “There, see? Now you don't have to look. We'll fix this.” 

The undead looked at him with mournful, watery eyes. It still had its jaw hanging, letting blood and drool slop everywhere. Ugh. Its breath reeked. “Chin up, buddy,” he joked, and pushed the jaw shut. A second later it hung down again. “I'm serious. You can't leave looking like that. I do have a reputation now.” He committed multiple acts of treason and escaped from prison. He should have a suave, sophisticated expression on his face. Not that ‘ate a bowl of bad mushrooms’ look.

The shambling thing was trying to obey, forcing its face into unnatural contortions to close the mouth. Varian had some more questions now. Would it listen to people other than Varian? Would it die again if something happened to its literally exposed heart? Would changing its clothes be worth the trouble? How to disguise it so nobody would arrest it? Varian squished the face until it looked like it had a mostly normal expression. “There we go! Now: Don't move my face from that position, and we won't have any problems.” 

He picked up some things the zombie had knocked over on its way to the amber. The zombie stumped along after him with all the motor skills of a baby. It tripped on a book and banged its head on a table. Varian decided his first priority was to get his body cleaned and protected from… whatever was controlling it now. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be another ordeal, wasn't it? The cadaver was helping, vaguely, by moving the mess from the floor to the work bench. Even bits of torn paper and broken glass. Some of the glass hadn't been broken until the zombie picked it up and crushed it. “So you don't have fine motor skills either,” he groused. Varry was oblivious to the large chunk of glass embedded in its- actually, in Varian's- hand. Varian pressed his phantom hands against his face and groaned. That must have meant something in zombie, because the zombie did it back. “Doesn't that hurt?” he asked it, pointing to the glass. 

The zombie nodded, pointing to its chest too. It spread its arms for a hug. Varian refused, and changed the topic. “We need a name for you, zombie. We can't both be Varian and I'm clearly the real one anyway- I mean, look at you, you're a mess- so… hmmm…” What should he call it? Something derived from his own name? Nah, that made it sound like he was its dad. “Flynn?” That. Was. HILARIOUS. 

The zombie shook its head.

“Why not?” the ghost asked.

The zombie looked ashamed, and pointed to itself.

Varian understood. It was kind of a cruel thing to do to ‘himself’. He didn't feel too bad for the creature, but Varian didn't like to think of the impression people would have of him if he named the corpse Flynn. He’d outgrown Flynn. “How about Peter?” It refused. “Paul? Xerxes? Alfonso?” Varian went through a lengthy list, all of which it refused. “I can't call you Varian. I'M Varian. You are something else entirely.” The zombie looked at him like a kicked puppy. An ugly puppy. But even ugly puppies were cute, and Varian could feel his resolve crumbling. But no! He was Varian and that thing wasn't. Bad enough it stole his body, now it was stealing his puppy dog eyes! He had to put his foot down now! … and compromise, he guessed, on the name. “How about Varry? Maybe you could pronounce that. And it's almost the same as Varian.” The zombie reluctantly accepted. “Could you get that glass out of my hand now?” Varian scolded it, which he noticed worked wonders compared to trying to reason with it. Afterward, he put his gloves back on it. The zombie was clearly fascinated by them and Varian had to tell it several times to finish helping him get the lab in order.

It muttered and mumbled incoherently while it worked- Varian had it moving heavier, less breakable objects- and finally it sounded like it was getting a handle on the concept of speech. “Varry. Varry.”

It said that over and over, until Varian caught on that it was calling HIM that. “I'm Varian. Va- Ri- An. Practice that for a while, Varry.” It did. Now that it had a stunning vocabulary of two entire words, Varry started to pester him. Everything was clean by now, so the not-a-ghost looked down at the abomination using his body. 

Varian wanted to get over it but couldn't. He should be alive again but this freaking zombie was in the way. Oh well. It would be useful, and that would pay back for it ruining his resurrection attempt. “What do you need, Varry?”

The zombie pointed at him, made an angry face, and pointed at itself. 

The ghost laughed bitterly. “No,” he lied, “I'm not mad at you.” The zombie was too dumb not to believe him. It cheered and tried to hug him again. Varian didn’t let it.

\--

It was awake! There was light, so much light, everywhere! Everything hurt! But it pushed away the hurt, which broke off of him and flew away. Then that all stopped and it sat up. In the air was itself… no, himself, glowing. And angry. This was bad. He would impress himself. This was a good idea. He walked. He saw the Man In The Yellow Rock. This made him very sad but he didn’t know why. He knew it was important to get the man out but the punches did nothing. He cried. He couldn’t make Himself But Glowing happy, and that was important. The shiny, better him talked to him, and after a long time Himself But Glowing was using their real name, and he only got to be Varry. The other one… was mad at him? He had to ask. Words were hard but he knew those. Varian was not angry, but did not want to touch him. That was okay. Varry was not pretty, like Varian who glowed and was shiny. He looked down. Varry was gross, and had…

Had blood…

...All over his front. He screamed and hid under the table, but the blood was still on his front and followed him there too!

Varian told him to stop that and put on a shirt so the hole was covered up. But what was a shirt? Varry didn’t know! He screamed because there were no other ideas. Varian brought him something that looked just like Varian’s front, but flat and not shiny. Varian told him, Varry, to put it on. Varry could add pieces to himself? Without Varian? Varry tried. He got stuck and now his head was stuck looking down. The blood was right in front of his face. He froze- maybe it would leave. Glowing, shiny Varian pulled the shirt the rest of the way on. It had no blood. He understood now, there was no hole! Hooray! He put his hand over the hole, and was surprised to feel that it was still under the shirt. But he could not see it, so it wasn't important. Varry was not scared anymore. He smiled up at Varian, who was already leaving. Varry was not brave and not smart like Varian, so that was okay.

Oh! He should make cookies!


	3. I Can Go Shopping

I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF  
Ch3

Summary: Varian to try to get some use out of the zombie! This ends as well as you’d expect.  
.  
.

Varian dragged a ghostly hand down his face, watching Varry break another cup. He had been able to deter Varry from getting into the alchemy equipment, but nothing- absolutely nothing- would get it to stop its mad quest to make cookies. It was just his luck that the zombie didn't know that clothes were not skin but somehow knew about baking. Alchemy? Nope. Baking? Sure. It lacked the coordination to handle the smaller kitchen tools, but according to the recipe the ghost was reading it was attempting everything correctly. Varian watched it make messes all over the place gathering supplies. It didn’t help at all that there was a raccoon- Rudiger- running around trying to help and making even more of a mess. Varry couldn’t pronounce his name and just started calling him Ruru instead, which… ugh. So childish. His house was getting very full of unwanted company. The zombie didn't appear to know the importance of fresh ingredients, and after the first (very, VERY) rotten egg was broken, Varian put a stop to the little kitchen experiment. The raccoon chattered at him, but stopped when he shot him a glare from above.

“Okay, Varry, I just have to ask: who do you think is going to eat the cookies? I can't, and I don't think you are biologically functional enough to have peristalsis,” he mused aloud, knowing full well the zombie didn't know what he was saying, “and it would be wrong for me to let Rudiger eat them.” In response, Varry pointed at the amber with some kind of roar-grunt. The amber was covered, but the zombie knew what was beneath. Varian didn't let it go near the amber because it would lift the cover and start bawling like a baby again. He did it EVERY time. “Oh… yeah, I think the cookies are gonna go bad before we get dad out of there. Why don't we try something else?” he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I know! You can help me with something. You get back on the table and I'll get that machine running.”

Varry looked at the hole in his chest (or, rather, the part of his shirt covering said hole) and poked it with his finger. He started to growl, surprised, when the fabric bent inward. With some disgust, Varian noted there was now a stain where goo from the heart had touched the shirt.

The ghost swatted the hand. “Don't do that!” he scolded. And then mentally scolded himself. He hated to admit it but the suggestion was premature. Varian knew it was pointless to try getting back in his body with that massive wound still present. He would just die again, and he was not going to count on his luck holding up to let him be a ghost (for lack of a more scientific term) once more. But he was out of the alchemy supplies necessary for his healing elixir. There was nothing for it but to tolerate the undead thing a while longer. “Varry? Hey. Look up here, buddy. There you go. I'll put all the stuff you measured out already up here for safekeeping, then we are going to practice how to go to the market. We need alchemy supplies.” The zombie held up an egg, and Varian rolled his eyes. “And some eggs, fine, but nothing extra, do you understand?” Varry nodded, and pointed at Rudiger. Varian fought the urge to roll his eyes a second time. “Fine, okay, you can bring the raccoon.”

\---

Several hours later, as Varian watched screaming villagers running in all directions, he concluded that Varry was going to need constant supervision. Instructions with more than three steps were beyond its ability to remember. Varry was going to have some real trouble with the concept of self-preservation generally (which wasn't TOO upsetting, given Varian was probably going to have to remove the thing from his corpse if he wanted to revive himself, and he needed it dumb enough to go along with the procedure, but it was inconvenient right now). It was a bit of a miracle that the zombie got most of the things Varian needed- and the eggs- but would it have been too much to ask that it did so without getting shot five times? 

“- and who brings a crossbow to the market? Someone with issues, that's who! Just look at this!” would have been the conclusion of his rant, but then Varry turned his head, sincerely trying to look, and fell over. Oh… oh, those snapping sounds weren't good. The ghost looked down and swore under his breath. Two of the arrows were pushed the rest of the way through Varian's body, and he could only hope he wouldn't need to do anything drastic to get the other three. Varry whined, but got back on his feet at the ghost’s urging.

At least nothing reached the heart, though one of the arrows had come perilously close. The shaft was nice and cozy between the vena cava and the… other vessel he couldn't remember the name of right now. It still would have killed him if he was alive, having gone through a lung, but Varry was merely a little put out. Any of those arrows would have killed him eventually, had he been alive in the first place. The shooter was either some kind of sadist, or had hoped to get information from the infamous alchemist before he perished but then changed his mind.

This could have been avoided if Varry had not taken off the mask Varian put on him just so he could get his face painted! They were safely hidden now and the arrows were coming out nicely thanks to his telekinesis. Just one more and they could be on their way again.

Varry was not bothered by the arrows. That raccoon had followed them to town and was now chattering what had to be the raccoon equivalent of ‘there, there’. He was petting it roughly, which the pest tolerated for the sake of apples. Varry must have stolen them, because they were not on the list. The raccoon snuggled up with the zombie, giving Varian a wary look as it did. Rude. Varian would be glad to get rid of them both. They were in the way of saving his dad.

\---

Varry loved the market! So many people and things to see! He got the List, which was a flat thing Varian said would make people help him, and the people drew lines on the List when they gave him a thing and took the shiny circles he gave them. Varry wanted to keep them. They were a happy shape, and some were so bright! But Varian said the circles had to go if he wanted cookies and to help the Man, who was called Dad. Varry was disappointed that the people in the market did not look like Varian. It made it hard to remember that he needed to show them the List like they practiced. Practice meant Varian showed him how to do things and made him do them until he was not a Clumsy Buffoon. When that happened, Varian said he was Good. Varry did not want to be Bad. Rudiger helped. He knew what was on the list and led him to the right places. 

Now everything was in the wagon. Varian said Varry had to bring the stuff he bought back with a wagon because he broke things all the time and that was Bad. He also said a lot of words Varry didn't know. What was an explosion?

But then he saw many small people gathered around a wrinkly lady with colorful goo on a dish. She put a stick on the goo, and then on the small people's faces, and the goo made shapes! A bird shape, many dots, something with five points, a raccoon, and so much more than he had words for! Varry wanted a shape. He got in the group, and soon it was his turn on the chair. The lady said a lot of things to him but all he understood was to take off the mask.

He did, and suddenly everyone was afraid. Rudiger made angry noises and ran, leading him back to the woods. While he ran he felt five sharp things crash into him. They hurt. He kept going, and then Varian helped them get away. After Varian took away the arrows and they were far away, he yelled. Varry was scared. Varian said it was bad he didn't listen. It was bad, Very Bad, and Varry would get them both killed if people saw his face. Then he said killed meant The End, and no cookies or Dad or Rudiger or face painting or being happy ever again. And he would deserve it for hurting Varian and Dad.

‘Killed’ sounded bad. So did ‘The End’. So did ‘deserve it’. Varry would hide his face for sure next time.


End file.
